Lysandra’s Lies
by doranelle
Summary: Set in Hogwarts, an unfortunate rumor forces Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn to meet. (Rowaelin, also includes a Lysaedion storyline)
1. Chapter 1

Aelin tried her best to stay well away from Lysandra during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Truly, this was her favorite class and she wouldn't let that gods-damned Slytherin ruin it for her. No matter how many times that self righteous bitch smirked contemptuously at her. No matter how many times she "accidentally" sent a rogue charm hurtling at Aelin.

Aelin exercised beautiful, serene, self control. At the moment, however, it was wearing terribly thin. Lysandra was currently whispering to her minion, whom Aelin refused to learn the name of. Lysandra happened to be a terrible whisperer.

"Did you see the way Aelin was looking at Professor Hamel? Seems she still has that school girl crush. I can't believe she thinks would ever have a chance with him."

Aelin gritted her teeth. It was true that she used to have an embarrassingly obvious crush on Arobynn Hamel. And it was undeniable that she still found him attractive. But that foolish adoration had passed.

And Lysandra was one to talk. She had had a crush on him too, Aelin thought, dredging up painful memories of her and Lysandra practically clawing at eachother for his attention. She supposed that's when their rivalry started.

Now, their feuds were little ones more than hateful glances and whispered rumors. The latter mostly from Lysandra's end. Aelin preferred to use her fists.

As class ended, Aelin watched, dread coiling in her stomach, as Lysandra slinked up to her.

"Hey Aelin," she purred, flicking her luscious, dark hair behind her shoulder in an almost rehearsed fashion.

Aelin steeled herself against the urge to slap that confidence off of her face.

"What do you want, Lysandra?" she asked, annoyed.

"Why do you always assume, I want something?" Lysandra tutted, "I was actually trying to be helpful for my dear friend, Aelin. I thought maybe you'd want to hear about this."

Aelin couldn't deny her interest was peaked.

"Well get on with it," she uttered, impatient.

"Wellll..." Lysandra drew out, causing Aelin to clench her jaw in irritation, "There's a nasty rumor going around that you and Rowan Whitethorne... well, you know. Did it."

Aelin felt as if she could burst into flames. _Rowan Whitethorne?_ _That prick? _

Rowan Whitethorne was Slytherin's Prince. He was rumored to have a heart of ice, and Aelin wouldn't say she didn't believe it. She couldn't remember a time when she had even spoken to him. Aelin shuddered at the thought.

Sure, he was easy on the eyes, and he had more than his fair share of girls dumping themselves at his feet. But who would believe that _Aelin_, Gryffindor's fiery golden girl, would _ever_ submit herself to the charms of a Slytherin.

"Would you happen to know who started this little rumor?" Aelin questioned, not bothering to keep the accusation out of her voice.

Lysandra feigned indifference.

"I just thought you'd want to hear it for yourself," she sighed, then leaned forward, "Especially before Aedion heard of it."

Aelin mentally cursed Lysandra. She knew this rumor was her doing. Rowan Whitethorne wasn't even in her year.

Aelin now knew why Lysandra had even bothered. She knew Aedion would get into a brawl with Rowan. He couldn't afford to get another detention, or to start a bigger fight between the houses. Lysandra just _had _to pick one of the most muscular kids in Hogwarts.

"Rowan Whitethorne," Lysandra mused, twirling a lock of her hair, her emerald eyes distant, "Now how did you manage to do that?"

Her pretty face contorted into an ugly sneer as she glanced at Aelin.

Aelin shrugged, forcing a look of nonchalant confidence into her face as she walked towards the door. She mentally ran through all of the places she could find Aedion before this got bad.

Aelin glanced over her shoulder to see Lysandra waiting for an answer.

"I didn't. He's not really my type."


	2. Chapter 2

Aelin sprinted down the hall, shoving other students aside as she searched for Aedion.

God, why was he such as territorial bastard, anyways?

She prayed that he hadn't heard the rumor yet. Better yet, that he had heard it and knew that Aelin would never be so desperate.

She knew she could do better than Rowan Whitethorne. Partially because she'd had Chaol Westfall. The noble Gryffindor had girls swooning for him, yet he was nothing but a gentleman.

She could still be with him, if she just asked. But he was not enough for her. He wasn't daring enough, wasn't wild enough, couldn't tame her. She still missed him in the way that ex lovers do. But he was her best friend, and that came first.

Came second, actually, after finding where Aedion fucking was.

Aelin stopped to catch her breath as she heard chants of what could only be cruel youths yelling as they witnessed one of the most exciting events of their young, depraved lives: a fistfight.

Aelin groaned.

_In the middle of the hallway, Aedion? Really?_

She shrugged off her robes and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, cracking her neck.

She pushed the through the crowd of students encircling the scene like vultures, clearing a path for herself.

Seeing the head of golden hair the same shade as hers, she had the urge to let out some indecent words.

He was there captured in a powerful headlock, desperately using all of his might to escape. She couldn't distinguish Rowan's face, but the shock of white hair was enough. His best friend, Lorcan Salvaterre, stood, ever amused.

This was humiliating.

Aelin calmly stepped to where Rowan was gripping her cousin, and socked him firmly in the jaw. Surprised, he released Aedion, and the blonde jumped to his feet, ready for more.

Aelin punched him, too.

He doubled over, and she bent down to grab his ear, tugging it towards her mouth.

Then, loud enough for everyone who'd just fallen silent to hear, she gritted, "Before you continue to sully the family name by losing this fight, I would just like to tell you that whatever you heard wasn't true. Perhaps we could've settled this maturely if you'd asked me. But you took it upon yourself to avenge me, so it's you who has to fix it."

She straightened, and turned Aedion towards Rowan. The tan, white haired boy stood with an unreadable expression. Was it shock? Confusion? Maybe he was even a little impressed.

"Apologize," she commanded.

Aedion whipped his head to look at her incredulously, but she gave him a glare that told him there was no room for argument.

"I'm sorry," he bit out.

Rowan dipped his head in acceptance.

Aelin turned towards the onlookers.

"Whatever juicy bit of info you heard about me today was fabricated. If I hear that rumor again, whoever utters it will soon find their mouth unable to move. Just to clarify, never in a million years would I touch _him," _she gestured to Rowan, "Now scatter, the lot of you."

And that was that. Easily discouraged, the group of formerly raging teenagers disbanded to find their next classes. But this event would not be forgotten easily. Especially not by Rowan Whitethorne, who stared at the blonde girl with gold rings in her eyes as she sauntered away, as if he had just awoken from a deep slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Aedion's cheeks burned as his cousin stared him down. Guilt roared in his ears as he remembered how he'd jumped to conclusions about his own _cousin,_

before he'd even asked her if what'd he'd heard was true.

The most embarrassing part of it all was that he'd let _Rowan Whitethorn _hold him in a headlock, in front of everyone. He suppressed a growl as he thought of the Slytherin. How that bastard managed to keep a cool head the entire time was nothing short of infuriating. What was more infuriating was how many girls threw themselves at Rowan. He barely looked at any of them. That ungrateful, lucky, bastard.

Aedion shifted under the weight of Aelin's glare.

"I'm sorry?" he tried.

She shifted, placing a hand on her hip.

"You genuinely thought that violence was the best response?"

Aedion flashed an uneasy grin at her.

"Isn't it always?"

He hoped for her to humor him, maybe catch a glimpse of that feral smirk of hers. But there was no such answer.

Aelin shook her head, her eyes closing in disappointment.

"Not this time."

Aedion felt the guilt coil into scathing shame at his cousin's anger.

She pursed her lips together, and he stared at the Common Room fireplace to avoid her piercing glare. The dorm's inhabitants had scattered immediately as they saw the look on Aelin's face when she'd dragged Aedion in.

"Did you ever even consider how getting into a fight might affect you?" she questioned, finally raising her voice.

Aelin's fiery temper was never on a very short leash.

Aedion opened his mouth to defend himself, but she continued.

"Did you ever consider that one more detention this year and you might get expelled?"

Aedion took the snipe at his record in stride, if only because it was true. And he was so blinded by the need to hurt the person he thought touched Aelin that he hadn't even thought about it.

"Did you even consider that you've just given the Slytherins a valid reason to retaliate?!" Aelin pressed, now yelling.

She inhaled deeply, and when her eyes reopened, the gold rims around her pupils, akin to his own, were burning bright.

"And maybe, just maybe, you could've considered that I can fuck whoever the hell I want to," she spat, her anger rolling off her tongue.

He flinched, clenching his fists at the thought.

"You can fuck whoever you want, as long as they'll treat you the way you deserve. Rowan wouldn't have," Aedion growled.

Aelin flung her hands into the air in exasperation.

"And how the hell would you know that?" she snarled back.

Aedion forced himself to remember that it was he who was in the wrong.

"I know because he went around, spreading the rumor that'd you'd let him do...things to you!" Aedion tried to explain.

"It wasn't even him who made that rumor up! It was Lysandra! But I suppose you don't really give a damn who did what when you're looking for a punching bag, huh?" Aelin shouted at him.

His eyes shot back to her.

Lysandra Caraverre? That stuck up, Pureblood bitch? She'd hated Aelin since second year.

Aedion wasn't surprised. No, that wasn't it. He was angry. He was beyond angry. He was ready to gut that lying whore.

"I'm sorry for being a big, stupid brute who thinks with his fists. I truly am," Aedion began, hoping his voice was as sincere as he meant for it to be, "But I have to go."

Without allowing her the second it would take her to realize where he was going and what he was about to do, Aedion swung open the large painting door and stormed towards the dungeons.

When he arrived, he grabbed a puny second year Slytherin, who was exiting the dorm, by the robes and growled into his ear, "Get Lysandra."

She came out in a few seconds, her cheeks flushed with faint surprise.

Aedion could see the fear hedged in her green eyes, the subtle nervous bite of her lip.

"Do you know why I'm here?" he asked, allowing her the chance to confess.

She sighed, and in that moment, he hated how pretty she was. How could such a beautiful face hide such a mean character?

"I'm hoping maybe you'd know the answer to that question," she teased, her eyes roving over him as she donned a mask of sultry confidence.

_Why the hell does she do that? _Aedion wondered, his anger fading a bit in favor of curiosity.

He found her dishonesty and her ability to keep her true emotions hidden infuriating. A true Slytherin.


	4. Chapter 4

Lysandra was a big fucking liar. She lied about everything. She lied about her interests, her friends, her enemies. She lied to anyone and everyone. She lied about important things, about unimportant things.

She liked it. The lying. It was easy, and oh so fun. The best part was that you could _be _someone else. You could fool everyone into thinking you were someone you weren't. You could even fool yourself. The Lysandra she pretended to be was nothing like the Lysandra she was, and she loved it. She could put on a confident mask, and no one would know that there was an imposter in their midst.

People see what they want to see, and Lysandra was well practiced in reading what exactly that was.

So, when she took one glance at Aedion Ashryver, clenching his fists outside of her dormitory, she knew exactly who to play.

He needed to be angry at someone. So, she'd be maddening.

"Please do tell what made you come here, to my dorm, and request a meeting with just the two of us...alone," she purred, her voice dripping with intention.

He bristled, and she internally gave a gleeful

smirk. Oh, he did not like this Lysandra one bit.

"You started that rumor about Aelin," he accused, gruffly.

She put a hand to her chest in mock surprise.

"Whatever do you mean?" she lilted, enjoying the way he reddened with rage.

"You told the school that Aelin and Rowan Whitethorn had sex," he spat.

She tossed her hair, her eyes clearly showing that she'd known exactly what he'd been talking about all along.

"Oh, that," she mused, "Well, I have no idea where you got the notion that _I'd _started such nasty gossip. Personally, I don't think Rowan would touch Aelin with a ten-meter pole."

Steam was practically coming out Aedion's ears.

"Why the hell do you hate her so much, huh? Why do you feel the need to make the lives of others worse?" he snapped.

Lysandra blinked. She didn't hate Aelin. Sure, she thought the girl was haughty, and needed to be knocked down a peg or two. But the reason she'd had for starting that rumor was rooted in jealousy. She hated that Aelin was everything she could never be. She hated that she was reckless, and didn't care about what others thought of her. Above all, Lysandra hated that Aelin didn't have to play a character for others to like her.

She'd started the rumor in the hopes that Aelin's rivalry with her would rekindle. Admittedly, as Lysandra thought about it, it seemed pathetic. But the rivalry was the closest thing she'd ever had to real friendship. At least Aelin was honest with her. The girls Lysandra currently surrounded herself with were constantly begging for her approval, and it all got very tiring when her facade was begging to fade.

Honestly, she'd also started the rumor with hope that something _finally _interesting would happen at this gods-damned school. Her interests and reasons were selfish, but that was the best part about playing a villain: as long as you can pretend you don't care, doing whatever you want is the easiest thing in the world.

She was dragged out of her inner musings as Aedion turned to trudge away, tired of her games.

She recoiled as he looked back at her, his lip curled in disgust. No boy had ever looked at her that way.

"Could you stop with the goddamn acting? You're not fooling anybody, and frankly, it's hard to watch," he coldly remarked.

Genuine surprise flashed across her face. She was unable to wipe the shocked expression away until Aedion was long gone, and she was left standing, still as night, contemplating the worth of her lies.


	5. Chapter 5

Rowan Whitethorn was in a terrible mood. He exhaled through his mouth as he tossed his wand up, twirling it in the air before he caught it again and repeated the process.

He was laying on his bed, green sheets meticulously folded, with one hand supporting his head. His friend and roommate, Lorcan Salvaterre, turned to glare at him.

"Could you cut that shit out? It's annoying."

Rowan grunted in acknowledgment, and relented, settling for spinning the wand in between his fingers.

"Just thinking about the Aelin and Aedion mess," he hedged.

Lorcan and him didn't really talk much. Truly, they were only friends because Rowan was the only other Slytherin Lorcan could tolerate and during third year, Rowan decided he needed to have at least one friend in Slytherin.

Lorcan grimaced.

"That bitch is a menace to society."

Rowan looked at him incredulously, a rare feeling of surprise flaring in him. Lorcan never admitted he was bothered by anyone.

"Why would you say that?" Rowan questioned.

"She causes far too much trouble in her year. Lysandra goes on and on about every prank she pulls, and every single one is enough to give you nightmares," Lorcan explained.

Rowan raised his eyebrows. He'd never paid much attention to Aelin before that damn rumor started, and he was starting to think that he should begin to.

_That hulking, brute of a Gryffindor marched towards him, practically spitting fire._

_Rowan looked up at him, his stoic face unreadable._

_"How fucking dare you touch my cousin, you prick?!" Aedion Ashryver accused._

_Rowan cocked his head, confused. Lorcan stood beside him, emotionless except for the little upwards quirk of his mouth. He was amused at the fool Aedion was making of himself._

_Aedion was more than happy that Rowan didn't give a response. He didn't feel like speaking either._

_He drew back his fist, but Rowan was already ahead of him._

_He dodged the punch, and Aedion cursed._

_A crowd began to form, hungry for violence or drama._

_Aedion tried again, only to have Rowan grab his wrist and pull it behind him._

_Rowan refused to throw a punch, as Aedion was clearly not in the right state of mind._

_He wasn't, however, above putting the golden-haired dick in a headlock._

_That was how Aelin Galathynius found the two, her lithe frame weaving through the crowd._

_Her gaze was steel and fire, and Rowan found himself unable to look away. Her eyes were striking, gold surrounded by turquoise._

_Rowan was so busy gripping Aedion, and observing the catlike way she moved that he didn't even see the punch coming._

_It surprised him enough for him to release her cousin._

_Rowan didn't expect her to punch her cousin, too._

_He watched as she told Aedion off, in front of everyone, her slender hand holding him by the ear._

_Rowan was impressed, but wouldn't show it, as she forced the red-faced Aedion to apologize._

_He was even more impressed when she commanded the crowd to scatter._

The girl's got balls, _he thought, his eyes focused on her as she dragged her cousin towards their Common Room._

Rowan shook himself back to the present, lazily grinning at Lorcan.

"Has one of her pranks ever been on you?" he taunted.

Lorcan's expression turned murderous. He glanced away from Rowan, fixing his eyes on a banner on the wall.

"My hair was neon orange," he whispered.

Rowan howled, picturing a sulking Lorcan with long, orange locks.

"Fenrys would like her," he choked out, referencing the mischievous Hufflepuff who'd been friends with Rowan since first year.

Lorcan trembled at the thought.

"For the sake of Hogwarts, let's hope they never meet."

Rowan allowed the conversation to be over, his tentative friendship with Lorcan drawing its boundaries. He returned to his thoughts of the fiery sixth year who'd caught his attention with a single punch.

She seemed like quite the handful, but Rowan couldn't deny his interest had been piqued. He wondered why Lysandra has started that rumor.

She never admitted to it, but the rumor had Lysandra written all over it. Only one person could make something so outrageous sound believable.

Rowan Whitethorn didn't kiss and tell. Sure, some of the girls he'd been with might, but Aelin didn't seem like the type of girl to fuck a Slytherin and brag about it.

In fact, she seemed like the type of person who wouldn't fuck a Slytherin at all, even if she got paid to.

Rowan's disobedient thoughts wandered to Aelin's appearance. She was a different breed of pretty. The elegant and graceful type.

It didn't particularly fit her personality, which was all harsh edges and sharp tempers.

Rowan had never really wanted her like that, and he still didn't fancy a brawl in the sheets with her.

She was most certainly not his type, and seemed more likely to slit his throat than fuck him.

In that moment, Rowan decided to stay away from Aelin Galathynius.

He was happy to let things return to the way they were, with both of them blissfully ignorant of the others' existence. This incident could fizzle out of everyone's memories. Aelin was more trouble than she was worth.


	6. Chapter 6

Aelin glared at her best friend, Ansel, for what seemed like the millionth time that morning.

"You have to at least admit that you'd fuck him if you had the opportunity," Ansel argued, gesturing aggressively as if that would persuade Aelin.

"Ansel, I've told you enough times that by now it should have penetrated your thick skull: I wouldn't fuck Rowan Whitethorn if he declared his undying love for me in front of the whole Great Hall," Aelin scoffed, throwing a fork at Ansel, which the redhead easily caught.

"Fine, but we _do _agree that he's one of the finest specimen this school has to offer, right?" Ansel wheedled, running a hand over her head to push back the hair that'd escaped her braid.

Aelin answered her with another burning glare, her fingers about to grasp another fork-

"Fine, fine!" Ansel relented, before her eyes glinted mischievously, "Still hung up on Chaol, huh?"

The fork would've pierced her eye if her reflexes weren't as good as they were.

"I was under the impression that you were a little bit more observant than a sloth under a sleeping curse, but if I must inform you, Chaol is sitting. _Right. There," _Aelin hissed through her teeth.

"Are we ever gonna talk about what happened, Aelin?" Ansel prodded, her voice serious for once.

Aelin forced the flush creeping up her skin to still, feeling Chaol's eyes on her. Damn him, he was a good listener.

"Maybe when there's anything to talk about," she forced out, faking a devil-may-care tone.

Chaol looked down, dejected and angry.

Good.

Aelin didn't want him to care that way about her anymore. She wanted him as a friend, and nothing more. The faster he stopped loving her, the faster things could go back to the way they were.

Ansel squinted at her, reading the lie in her voice.

Deciding not to probe further, the redhead tossed a lazy grin at Aelin and went back to devouring her breakfast.

~_~_~~_~_~_~_~_~_~

"Perfectly executed, Aelin," Professor Hamel praised, as Aelin's partner fell to the ground, temporarily stunned.

She mockingly bowed, hiding her cheeks burning at the attention from him. Her adoration of him may have been long forgotten, but that didn't mean she didn't strive to win his respect.

Lysandra glared at her from across the classroom. Her sour expression quickly turned sickly sweet as Professor Hamel turned his eyes towards her.

"Professor Hamel?" she asked, emerald eyes innocent and pure, "Bowing after a fight might give your opponent the opportunity to strike you when you're vulnerable, right?"

Arobynn thoughtfully contemplated her spiked suggestion, while Aelin fumed.

He eventually awarded Lysandra with a smile, "Yes, I suppose you're correct. I applaud you for analyzing duel tactics so well, Lysandra. You're always so observant."

Aelin scowled, and Lysandra gave her a perfectly ladylike smile.

"However," Arobynn turned towards Aelin, "Miss Galathynius is difficult to catch off guard, and I believe she's earned the right to be a little arrogant while her opponent is stunned."

Aelin couldn't contain her smirk, yet she didn't know that behind Lysandra's pouting lips, the brunette was also happy about the turn of events.

She didn't give a damn what Arobynn Hamel thought of her. She was finally sparking something again with Aelin, the only thing that'd ever felt real. The thing that allowed her to convince herself that somewhere inside of her, a real person existed. Someone that would still be there if she did what Aedion told her to, and dropped the act.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Dorian's eyes sparkled icy blue as he and Aelin stood outside the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower.

The bronze eagle door knocker rasped,

"If you lie, we will hang you. If you tell the truth, we will shoot you. What say you?"

Aelin gaped at the threat. By now, she knew none of the riddles the eagle had made a lick of sense, but she still couldn't wrap her mind around how this one was even a riddle.

Dorian only furrowed his brow, pausing to think, before answering, "You will hang me."

The eagle bowed its head, satisfied, and the door swung open.

As the pair entered the Common Room, they were greeted by the absolute havoc that was the Ravenclaw house after classes had ended.

Aelin observed students heatedly debating, talking to paintings, and playing with magic. Their familiars ran amok and books were strewn across the room. Bursts of light from cast charms flickered through the air. She waved to Nox Owen as he passed her, carrying a suspicious black box.

"Hey, Aelin," he winked, "Up to any trouble recently?"

"Oh you know, this and that," she smirked, then gestured to the box in his hands, "Though I'm sure you've been more busy than me."

He grinned in that unnerving way that Aelin had long since learned to find comforting.

"Let's just stay I have dug up enough secrets to blackmail a certain Prefect for a lifetime."

Aelin nodded, her own grin flashing to match his.

"I'll make sure to contact you when I've got a new scheme," she assured.

She and Nox worked together sometimes; he provided information, and she formed her tricks based off of them.

Nox nodded before hauling the box towards the boys' dorm.

Dorian held Aelin by the shoulders and steered her towards a quiet nook of the room.

"Remind me again why we couldn't meet in the library," he sighed.

"As much as you hate your Common Room, you have to admit it has character," Aelin told the Ravenclaw, her eyes gliding over the arches of the tower.

"Sure," Dorian gruffly accepted, "'_Character.' _Enough to make a man want to plug his ears and jump straight out of it."

Aelin offered what she hoped was a sympathetic expression, then got right down to business.

"I'm gonna get Lysandra back."

Dorian raised his eyebrows.

"Probably not the best idea, considering the fact that the two of you getting into a petty war is most certainly not in Hogwarts' best interests," he cautioned, "Especially not if you involve Nox Owen."

Aelin shook her head.

"I'm not involving anyone. Just me and her. She can't just start a disgusting rumor about me without facing the consequences," she explained.

"You have no concrete evidence she started the rumor. I mean, we all know that she did, but without evidence, it'd look like you wronged her just to spite her. That'd give a reason for Slytherin to retaliate," Dorian reasoned, each sentence deepening Aelin's frown.

He was right of course. And if she acted without reason, she'd look like a hypocrite because that's exactly what she'd told Aedion not to do.

"This is why I never share my plans with anyone. I should've just acted first, thought later, like I always do," she whined.

Dorian cast an amused glance at her.

"I'm sorry, what was it you _wanted _to hear?" he entertained.

"I don't know, maybe something supportive. We couldv'e bounced ideas on how to make Lysandra's life torturous off of eachother. An 'Aelin you're gorgeous and brilliant,' would've been nice," Aelin complained, though there was no exasperation in her voice.

Her best friend grinned at her, his eyes crinkling around the corners.

"Really, how is it that I put up with you?"

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

After two spent hours discussing the latest novels they'd read, the juiciest drama they'd heard about, and everything in between, Aelin had to drag herself out of the Ravenclaw Common Room before curfew.

Dorian insisted that he not be the reason for yet another detention for her.

Aelin had stuck her tongue out at him in a rather childish manner, but complied.

She was thinking of ways to sneak Puking Pastilles into Lysandra's food without anyone knowing it was her who'd done it, when she walked directly into a wall.

Rearing back, Aelin cursed colorfully, bracing herself on the wall to keep her balance.

She looked up to find an amused, apparently wall-like, Rowan Whitethorn smirking down at her.

"Wouldn't touch me in a million years, huh?"


	7. Chapter 7

Aelin took a step back. She put her hands on her hips, her gaze ferocious.

"You let me walk into you," she accused.

Rowan shrugged nonchalantly, his heart beating a bit faster than normal.

"It's not my fault you weren't looking where you were going."

"A little warning would've been nice," she insisted.

He rolled his eyes.

"You punched me," he pointed out.

Her fiery gaze didn't waver, and Rowan couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated. Still he stood tall, refusing to cower.

"You had _my cousin_ in a _headlock. _Maybe you should consider the fact that you deserved it," she fired back.

"You shouldn't have to act for him. He can handle himself," Rowan advised.

Aelin rolled her eyes.

"Whitethorn, I'm not taking advice from you in this lifetime. Now if you'll excuse me, I was scheming."

She flicked her golden hair behind her shoulder, a movement Rowan tracked.

He didn't know why, but he couldn't just leave the conversation there. She thought too highly of herself.

"If you ever punch me again, I'll ensure that you won't carry out another scheme for the rest of this lifetime."

A little too threatening, something he would never make good on. Why did he phrase it like that?

Aelin grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him towards her until their eyes were level with eachother. She smelled of lemon and verbena, a scent Rowan had to admit was intoxicating.

"Worried about your reputation because you let a girl best you? Don't threaten me if you aren't prepared to reap what you sow. I can make your life a living hell, Rowan Whitethorn," she spat.

Rowan glared at her, hoping she couldn't feel the thudding of his heart. His blood was on fire. No one spoke to him like that. Rowan couldn't remember the last time he was this furious.

"Believe me, Galathynius, you couldn't best me if you tried. Although, if you played nice, maybe I'd let you be on top," Rowan insinuated, nothing but cold fury in his voice.

Aelin pushed him back, disgust filling her face.

"I've said it more times this week to last an eternity, but to be clear, I wouldn't fuck you if we were the last people on Earth. I know you're used to getting girls to throw themselves at you, but I'm not them. If you ever even _implicate_ that we've slept together to _anyone_, I will cut off your favorite body part, and ensure that those girls will never receive the pleasure they so desire," Aelin hissed at him, flames dancing on her fingertips.

It was powerful nonverbal magic, and Rowan took a wary step back. No one in this school knew how to summon elements like that besides him.

In fact, he'd spent his entire life mastering calling ice to his hands. It was something he was known for, one of the reasons he was popular. How the hell did Aelin Galathynius do it so easily? Why had he never heard of her performing such magic?

The fire in her palm died down, her eyes never straying from his.

He straightened, as if he was unfazed by this new information. He needed to clear his head, and stop letting this haughty sixth year goad him on.

"Well, I'll be sure to remember that. I'll see you around, Galathynius," he remarked blandly.

_Next Thursday, _he exacted in his head, _the next Quidditch game._

Aelin's expression flashed with surprise at Rowan's sudden change in demeanor. Shaking off the shock, she sneered and shoved past him, throwing up her favorite finger in passing.

_So much for staying away from her._


	8. Chapter 8

Lysandra was exceedingly ready for the Halloween Ball. She knew that all the Slytherin girls were just waiting to see what spectacular costume she'd cook up for it, and she was prepared to blow their minds.

This was the only part of her false life she genuinely enjoyed. Clothes spoke to her, and she was never one to turn down the chance to look gorgeous.

She was however, broke. That's right, Lysandra Caraverre had not a dollar to her name, contrary to popular belief.

So, there she was, in the Room off Requirement, sewing glamoured fabrics that the room had so generously offered up.

She sighed, contentedly, her fingers expertly, pulling the needle through the sparkling material. She could easily do this with magic, but the process was soothing to her, and it gave her more time alone.

Some days Lysandra felt like the Room was her only friend. This was the only place she could truly be herself, without having to please other people.

Sure, she was imagining new, trending, designers, she could pretend custom made the costume for her. She was thinking of famous seamstresses and tailors she could say perfected the design.

But here, her lies were harmless, and miniscule. Her mind was safe to think all the dangerous thoughts she pushed back around normal people.

The most prominent one: Evangeline.

Lysandra's sister was always the first and last thing on her mind. If Evangeline was here, she would ask Lysandra why she pretended.

She would say, "Lyssie, you don't need to be someone else. You're perfect the way you are."

Tears filled Lysandra's eyes as she sewed faster and faster, setting a furious pace.

Evangeline didn't understand that she _needed_ to pretend. Didn't understand that her big sister was doing all of this for _her_. To protect _her._

Lysandra slammed back those treacherous thoughts when she noticed the room changing. The racks and racks of fabric disappeared, leaving comfortable couches and cushions in their place. She glanced around, confused, until she heard the door opening.

Lysandra hurriedly shoved her work under a cushion, as Aedion Ashryver entered the Room of Requirement.

His eyebrows rose, and he paused in his step as he saw her.

"Oh. Hey," he squeaked, then cleared his throat before trying again, normally this time, "Hey."

She was just as caught off guard as he was, and her mind was racing, her mental shields shooting up.

She settled for rolling her eyes, plopping down on a cushion, and stretching out, in an almost feline movement.

"Hello."

"I didn't know anyone was in here," he apologized, making to leave.

"Wait," she called, as he reached for the doorknob, "If you needed to be here, then by all means, stay."

Lysandra immediately regretted her words. Aedion Ashryver was not someone she should hang out with. He was muggleborn. Something Lysandra's circle did not sit well with. Furthermore, he was that halfblood Aelin Galathynius' fiercely protective cousin.

Perhaps all of that didn't matter to her. He was the only one that saw through her act, and that intrigued her. He intrigued her.

Aedion peered curiously at her before claiming a seat for his own.

"So, why are you here?" he questioned, in an effort to make things less awkward.

She shrugged.

"Needed to get away from things."

A half truth. A practice Lysandra was more than familiar with.

He looked as if he was about to ask more, and Lysandra could tell he knew there was more to her story.

How the hell did he do that?

However, he let it slide, nodding at her.

"Me too. Aelin won't talk to me, and my other friends can't have one conversation with me without bringing up how I was beaten by Rowan Whitethorn, _and _a girl."

His eyes widened after he spoke, as if surprised by his own honesty.

Gods, his _eyes._ They were beautiful. A gold core surrounded by turquoise.

She didn't particularly have a response for him, and didn't feel like forcing conversation. She was more than tired of that.

"Didn't think Lysandra Caraverre would ever need to take time away from her perfect life," he sniped, returning to his cocky self.

She leaned back lazily, closing her eyes. A vulnerable movement, something she knew she would regret later. She should say something rude back, she should be the Lysandra he knew. But she didn't. She was exhausted. Oh, so exhausted.

"If only you knew," she sighed.

Aedion scoffed.

"Did one of your minions buy your shoes in the wrong color? Did your rich Pureblood parents send less money this month than they usually do?" he pressed.

Now he was just looking for a fight.

Her hackles raised, and she dug down, dug deep, for an ounce of anger. For something that she could retort with, for an emotion besides weariness. But her disguises and masks were worn thin.

So, Lysandra set her gaze on Aedion, and he recoiled.

He saw the bags under her eyes that she hadn't glamoured away. He saw the dullness of those usually brilliant, forest green eyes. He saw the pure exhaustion that had settled there. He saw that Lysandra Caraverre was tired of hiding.

"You know nothing about me, Aedion Ashryver," she said, coldly.

Aedion met her tired gaze with an intensity that had her faltering.

"Then enlighten me."


	9. Chapter 9

**A reminder that I don't own anything within the Harry Potter or Throne of Glass universe.**

Aedion didn't know why he'd said it. He didn't particularly like Lysandra, especially because of the particularly nasty slur she and her friend group enjoyed calling him.

He should've just left when he saw she was tired; she obviously wasn't feeling well.

But as soon as the words came out of his mouth, there was no taking them back.

And Aedion was finding he wanted to see where this conversation went. He wanted to know who Lysandra was hiding under all of her masks, and now seemed like the right time to start.

Lysandra's eyebrows raised, surprised by his sudden interest.

She gave a lazy grin, a poor attempt, in his eyes, to don her armor again.

"I wouldn't know where to start," she bluffed.

She was going to make this quite difficult.

"Maybe with whatever you shoved under that cushion when you walked in," Aedion suggested, gesturing to the exact cushion he was referring to.

Her eyes snapped to his, and he was aware that this was the first time he'd ever seen Lysandra alarmed.

He hid a smirk, triumphant that he'd gotten her to stop being that cold, withdrawn, tired girl he'd seen just minutes ago.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lysandra lied.

She was a good liar, he'd give her that. But not good enough.

Aedion casually walked over to the cushion in question, and kneeled down.

He glanced at Lysandra to find her eyes wide, and he gave her a lopsided grin.

"You either tell me what's under here, or I find out for myself," he threatened, in a joking manner.

For Lysandra, this was not a joke.

"Get out."

She was fury and fear and cool humiliation when she stared at him.

She was intrigue and mystery and puzzling reservation.

She was a human being, Aedion realized. She was a human being.

"Okay," he shrugged, getting up.

If she wasn't willing to tell him, then he wouldn't force her to reveal it.

This wasn't a game, and she wasn't a puzzle he deserved to solve. She was a person, with feelings, just like everyone else. Feelings she would do anything to hide.

She watched him, confused by the sudden change in behavior as he walked towards the door.

"But I _will_ see you one day, Lysandra. _You. _Not whoever you're masquerading as."

Lysandra's mouth was slightly agape as Aedion exited the Room.


	10. Chapter 10

**A reminder that I don't own anything within the Harry Potter or Throne of Glass universe.**

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was the best gods-damned Chaser Gryffindor had ever seen.

Well, she thought so at least.

She didn't give a damn that it was raining, or that her thighs were chafing against her broom, or that her stomach was tossing in an uneasy manner, because no matter how hard she tried, she could _not_ resist that chocolate hazelnut cake that morning at breakfast.

Seriously, what self-sabotaging Gryffindor had placed it in her line of sight?

She was going to win this fucking game, no matter what.

Even if Rowan Whitethorn, who had been decidedly added to Aelin's hit list, was the best Keeper in the school, Aedion being a close second. Even if Manon Blackbeak was just a _hair_ faster and more skilled in the air than her. Even if Slytherin's Beaters, Blackbeak twins tried to _murder_ her every chance they got.

Aelin gnashed her teeth in pure frustration at the poorly stacked odds.

"Aelin!" Ansel screamed over the rain and the roar of the crowd.

Aelin whipped her head to see the Quaffle flying at her as it left Ansel's grip.

She caught it, racing towards the Slytherin hoops, all the way across the pitch. She weaved and dodged through the green-cloaked players trying to grab the ball in her hands or knock her out of the air, and lost herself in the familiar freedom of flying.

She was fire. She was freedom and air and wildness. She let out a whoop of exhilaration, because this never got old.

~_~_~_~_~

Rowan watched in growing anticipation as Aelin sped across the pitch, successfully evading his teammates' attempt to stop her.

He tried to reason for which hoop she would go for, but it was hopeless. If there was one thing you could count on Aelin for, it was being wildly unpredictable.

He could tell from the pure joy emanating from her face that she was not strategically planning what she was doing, and that even _she_ did not know what she would do once she neared Rowan.

He'd often seen the same look on the Blackbeaks' faces during flying practice, although seeing Manon anywhere close to joyful was disconcerting to say the least.

What Aelin did not see, was one of the Beaters, for Rowan could never tell the difference between Faline and Fallon, smack a Bludger so hard that Rowan swore he could hear the loud _thwack_ from his post by the goals.

It soared straight towards Aelin.

Neither of the Gryffindor Beaters were in any position to stop it, so everyone at the Quidditch field could only watch as Aelin continued her race towards Rowan, unaware of the projectile about to hit her.

And when it did, the look of pure surprise on her face was golden. Rowan would've _paid_ to capture that moment on camera. _Gryffindor's fiery princess surprised as a Bludger knocks her on her ass._

But Rowan's eyes widened as Aelin threw her arms out as she began her descent towards the grass, and fire shot from her fingertips.

The crowd let out a collective gasp as the whirling, dancing flames surrounded her, like a burning shield.

This was pure, unadulterated magic. This was non-verbal, no-wand, not-a-spell, _skill_ that Rowan couldn't _begin_ to fathom. How long had she trained to gain this much control, this much power?

She was falling to the earth, faster and faster, and Rowan quickly shook off his shock and hauled ass to catch her.

He didn't think twice about it; he would've done it for anyone.

~_~_~_~_~

Aelin hadn't even known that she was capable of summoning fire until her fingers shot out flames on that Quidditch pitch.

She hadn't even noticed the first time she'd called the flame to her hand with Rowan. She'd been confused as to why he'd stepped away and made such a quick exit. She'd seen surprise flash across his face before he cooled his features and had thought nothing of it.

Her arms instinctively curled around her body, but the golden flames that lapped at her skin weren't burning her. In fact, they offered a comforting warmth as they swallowed her during her free fall.

She didn't know how she was doing it, but she knew the fire was _hers. _It submitted to her. It obeyed her.

Fire, however, did not stop her from crashing towards the hard and muddy ground.


	11. Chapter 11

Aelin's skin was pulsing. _Pulsing_. She felt a burrow, a well, beneath her skin pressing to crawl out.

The sensation was enough to wake her from her deep slumber, and gaze directly into the eyes of Rowan rutting Whitethorn.

She growled, glancing around to confirm that she was in the Infirmary.

"Making a habit of watching people sleep?"

He started.

"Making a habit of insulting people who've saved your life?"

His words slammed her into thought. She marveled at the memories as they flooded her brain, and paused at the faint recollection of her body not hitting the squishy, wet, unforgiving ground. It had slammed into a wall of muscle.

He stared at her expectantly, his piercing green eyes boring holes into her.

"If you're waiting for a thank you, we'll be here for a while," she pleasantly informed him, "I'm not particularly pleased about being indebted to someone. And you most certainly did not safe my life."

She added the last sentence in under her breath, but she had a feeling he'd caught every word.

Before Rowan could respond, Madam Hafiza rushed to Aelin's side.

"I had a feeling you'd be up now. And about time, it's been four hours," she said, quietly yet firmly.

Aelin sat up and turned her head to the side, hearing the satisfying crack of her neck.

"Four hours? Why's he still here then?" she pressed, inclining her head toward an indifferent Rowan.

"Well, Miss Galathynius, Mr. Whitethorn is here to discuss your gift," a voice called from out of Aelin's line of sight.

She turned to see Headmaster Emrys smiling gently at her.

Gift? The fire? Seemed more like a curse.

"We understand this is the first time your power has emerged. You seem to have a natural gift for wandless, _and _nonverbal magic."

Aelin could do nothing but gape dumbly at him.

Natural gift? Wandless, nonverbal magic was damn near impossible. The only person she knew that could do it was-

"Mr. Whitethorn is the only other in this school who has presented this skill, and he seems the only one deemed fit to train you," Headmaster Emrys continued.

Aelin's tongue seemed to finally remember how to function.

"Train?" she sputtered, "That'll hardly be necessary-"

"You _must_ hone this skill. If not for the pure rarity of such a gift, than for the safety of others at this school. Your magic is wild and unpredictable at the moment, and you cannot endanger any of the other students here by refusing to learn to control it," Headmaster Emrys explained.

She looked at Rowan furtively. Surely he wanted to train her about as much as she wanted to learn from him.

But his eyes were downcast, his head bowed, as if he'd already run through all possible arguments with Emrys and found that he could not prevail.

She scowled as she mulled over the Headmaster's choice of words. _Wild and unpredictable. _That was _her_. She didn't want to control her magic. Especially not under the tutelage of Whitethorn.

"Are you certain it _has _to be _him_?_" _Aelin groaned.

"Do you have any other suggestions?" the Headmaster questioned, eyes sparkling with humor.

_Yes. It'd be nice if you avada'd me right now._

But she shook her head in acceptance anyway, because what other option was there? She wasn't about to make herself look like a gods-damned fool begging for another solution.

"Well, I have to be somewhere. Duties and all that," Emrys rushed, leaving Aelin and a brooding Rowan alone with Madam Hafiza, who scuttled around the Infirmary.

Aelin nearly rolled her eyes at the Headmaster's strangeness. His mind was often on another plane than his body.

Rowan straightened, his face neutral in aggravating calmness, save for a furrow of his brows.

She wanted to claw his eyes out.

"We're starting Monday at 7, after classes end. There's a hall on the fifth floor we can use. I'm not tolerating your arrogant bullshit, so keep your mouth in check," Rowan stated, his tone far too commanding for Aelin's liking.

She feigned a pout.

"I find my mouth quite nice the way it is. But perhaps you're just jealous that _I_ actually have lips," Aelin quipped pointedly, her gaze sliding down to his own, rather thin pair.

Rowan snarled, and whirled out of the Infirmary, nodding to Madam Hafiza on his way out.


	12. Chapter12

Life had an easy balance to it.

Aedion got into shit, then Aelin got him out of said shit. Then, it was Aelin's turn to get into shit, during which Aedion would return the favor. Both were allowed to administer a scolding after each occurrence.

The balance was notably broken when Aelin shot _hellfire_ from her _hands._ Aedion couldn't get her out of this type of shit.

So, he did his best, and tried to get into the Infirmary, was kicked out, then tried again, and was firmly sent back to his dormitory by a stern Madam Hafiza.

Settling for waiting outside of the Infirmary until Aelin got out well after class ended, Aedion was more than surprised to see Rowan Whitethorn exit.

Aedion briefly considered the merits of asking Rowan anything. His life was rather valuable to him, and he'd prefer keeping it, especially after for attacking Rowan unprovoked.

"Is my cousin okay?" he finally asked, swallowing his pride.

Rowan turned to him, his eyes stormy.

"She's fine."

And that was it. Forever the brooding mystery, Rowan Whitethorn turned on his heel and made his way back to his dorm.

Aelin followed shortly after, and found a furiously pacing Aedion to greet her.

"Are you alright? Why was Rowan in there? What the rutting hell was that fire?" he rushed frantically.

Aelin explained everything to him, colorfully cursing Headmaster Emrys when it came to the part about training with Rowan, and assured Aedion she had not been roasted, or even the slightest bit toasted.

After he got over his shock, and asked many, _many _more questions about her magic and why the fuck he hadn't inherited it, Aedion allowed Aelin to walk back to her dorm.

That was of course after her reassurance that she could go alone safely.

Aedion was planning on stopping by the kitchens to grab a bite to eat, after all he _had _skipped dinner, when he glanced at his watch.

5 minutes past curfew.

When he looked back up, he saw a lithe form slinking in the shadows towards the courtyard.

He took a closer look, and saw dark brown tresses flowing behind the figure.

It was hair he knew.

_Lysandra._

Before even thinking about it, he had cast a Silencing Charm on himself and was following her. Out of the courtyard, behind the school, towards the lake.

She seemed to choose an oddly specific route out of the school, as if she knew which hallways to avoid. _A familiar routine._

Once they were farther from the school than Aedion had ever ventured, closer to the woods than he cared to be, Lysandra did what she came here to do.

Aedion watched, openmouthed, as the elegant girl before him shifted into a great, predatory, ghost leopard.

_An Animagus._

Aedion reversed the charm on himself, and spoke.

"Is this the secret you've been keeping from the world?"

The leopard whipped her head towards him, and snarled.

The eyes were the same.

She shifted back, fur receding into skin.

"One of many," she answered, trying to keep her calm, "Might I ask why you were following me?"

"What? A man can't take a stroll in the night?" Aedion avoided, his mind racing to find an explanation that wouldn't sound creepy.

"Don't lie to a liar, Aedion. I know you want to uncover all of my deep, dark secrets," Lysandra teased, then turned deadly serious.

He almost took a step back at the intensity in her stare.

"Don't tell anyone about what you saw here."

He swallowed, then nodded.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he promised.

"Swear it," she pushed, voice rising, "On Aelin's life."

He gulped.

"I swear on Aelin's life that I won't tell anyone what I've seen here."

A pause as she searched his eyes.

She nodded, content with whatever she'd found there.

"A-Are you registered?" he blustered, hoping to stop this strange gazing-into eachothers-eyes-thing that was making him sweat.

She rolled her eyes.

"Of course not," she scoffed, "This is just an...escape."

She'd paused before the last word, giving the impression that she'd never thought about what this was, never thought she'd have to explain herself.

"You shouldn't live a life you feel you need to escape," Aedion remarked.

She rolled her eyes again.

"What are you, a gods-damned crystal ball?"

He placed his hands on his hips.

"Was that an attempt at calling me fat?" he joked.

Lysandra let out an unfiltered, throaty laugh, and Aedion grinned so wide he felt his face would split in two.

He felt like he'd just won the world.

"What do you usually do here?" he pressed.

She shrugged.

"Just walk around I guess; the animals don't judge me, and I don't have to talk," she explained, her eyes on the round moon.

Aedion would look up, too, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes off of her.

"You shirk Prefect duties to...walk?" he asked, disbelief and a bit of awe clouding his voice.

"Don't sound so surprised," Lysandra grinned, still staring at the sky, "I get some poor girl to do them under the guise of laziness. Works like a charm and it's what everyone expects from me anyways."

Aedion saddened at those words.

"Why do you refuse to show everyone who you really are?" he questioned.

She frowned, and Aedion quickly changed the subject.

"If you came here for an escape, then by all means, go ahead. I didn't mean to interrupt," he rushed.

She finally looked at him, a small, confused smile on her face, curious at his antics.

She hesitated a little before shifting back into that glorious, powerful snow leopard.

Her silver fur rustled in the cool, evening breeze. Her coat shined with a silver glow from the moonlight. Her green eyes shone with peace and belonging, and suddenly, Aedion felt like he was intruding on something tranquil, something sacred.

He was prepared to head back to the school, when she turned her great head towards him, and inclined it.

An invitation.

One he would be a fool to decline. So, Aedion followed Lysandra's leopard form as she lead a path around the lake, through the now not-so-frightening woods.

They kept pace, side by side, silent save for their footsteps and breath. Aedion felt calm, and allowed himself to think over the day's events while he stared at the sky. He would sometimes glance at Lysandra's feline form, but she seemed as lost in thought as he was. So, they continued as silent companions.

He lost track of how long they walked, but as he looked at the black water, and saw tiny stars reflected in it, Aedion couldn't help but feel that he should add this routine to life's balance and see how it weighed out.


	13. Chapter13

Aelin was used to being stared at, but this was just getting ridiculous. She smirked at a group of awed first years as she passed them on the way to Ansel.

The whole school was abuzz about her fiery stunt, and Aelin was already tired of it.

Sure, she reveled in attention, but there were far too many people asking her questions, and she was running on zero dinner.

To make matters worse, she'd have to explain everything to Ansel, _then _Dorian, and _then _to whatever less significant friends that she was surely forgetting.

"Aelin," a bold third-year called to her, "Is it true you breathed fire?"

She turned to smile sarcastically at him.

"Yes, I'm half Hungarian Horntail actually," she deadpanned, voice dripping with venom.

She felt hands on her shoulders.

"Okay, fireball, that is enough interaction for today," Ansel advised while steering an agitated Aelin towards her seat.

"Really," Aelin whined, "I was just warming up."

"I'm not sure why Lysandra even bothers starting rumors about you when you do all the work yourself," Ansel retorted.

Pouting in response, Aelin plopped onto the bench unceremoniously and dug into her breakfast.

"I expect a full explanation of yesterday's events when you're done growing an extra clothing size," Ansel informed Aelin.

She didn't even flinch when the fork came flying at her.

Between and often _during _bites, Aelin told Ansel everything.

"Can't be that bad," Ansel pondered, "Rowan Whitethorn, alone with you, in a room for hours a day, rippling muscles and all? Sounds like a gods-damned gift."

She paused, eyes pointed towards the heavens, as a small, blissful smile came to rest on her lips.

"Oh and the magic thing is cool, too, I guess."

Aelin snorted.

A loud shriek interrupted her mid-bite.

Every head in the Great Hall whipped towards the Slytherin table as Lysandra shot up, a hand slapped over her mouth.

The Slytherin table erupted in cackles.

She bolted out of the room, but not before the entire cafeteria knew that Lysandra Caraverre's teeth had been stained a muddy brown.

Aelin smirked at Ansel.

"Was it you?" Ansel whispered.

Aelin grinned wildly in response.

She turned to grin wider at her cousin, but he only frowned back at her.

She wondered what type of stick was shoved up his ass today.

~_~_~_~_~

Aelin glared at her dress in the full length mirror of her and Ansel's shared dorm.

"Ansel, no."

"Ansel, _yes_," Aelin's best friend gushed back.

"It's a bit on-the-nose," Dorian offered from his place on Aelin's bed.

She often snuck him in here after she'd figured out how to trick the magic working to keep him out.

_Godric and his stupid, sexist beliefs._

She'd informed Dorian of her _situation, _and he'd agreed to get ready for the dance with her and Ansel instead of Chaol, because Aelin was undoubtedly going through more emotional stress. Dorian said Chaol had already planned on going with the boys of the Gryffindor quidditch team, but Aelin liked to believe Dorian was here because Ansel and she were _loads _more fun.

She cocked her head to the side, as if it would somehow change her opinion on the dress.

It was undeniably beautiful. Shimmering, metallic fabric flowed from the skirt. It fit snugly and pooled down at her feet. The high slit that revealed most of her leg was almost certainly against dress code, and Aelin loved Ansel for finding such a dress for her, but-

"I'm a fucking phoenix," Aelin stated flatly.

Ansel and Dorian burst into a fit of laughter.

"I swear I hadn't known- I didn't-" Ansel wheezed.

"Go ahead, laugh it up," Aelin grumbled, "I'll slit your throat in your sleep tonight."

Dorian laughed harder, and Aelin glared at him.

"That threat includes you too."

His chuckles trailed off as he raised his hands in surrender.

He was wearing a toga, a golden wreath adorning his head. She supposed he looked rather handsome, but he always looked like that. Ansel was dressed as a pirate, and Aelin was stuck looking like a pompous firebird.

"By the way, prank you pulled on Lysandra today, bloody brilliant," Dorian praised.

Aelin smirked, intent on not starting a House War.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"A troublemaker you are, a liar you are not," Dorain quipped.

"Shouldn't you have a date or something?" she growled back.

"A true bachelor never holds himself down to one lady on nights like this," Dorian bragged, causing Aelin and Ansel to roll their eyes in almost-impressive unison.

"That reminds me, would you ladies like to recommend any of your friends for me to-"

"No."

"Hell no."

"Double negative! That's a yes," Dorian exclaimed, and Ansel and Aelin shared an exasperated look.

"Manon Blackbeak," Ansel cracked dryly.

Dorian stiffened.

"I prefer my testicles the way they are, thanks."

"That's nice, because no one else does," Aelin teased.

Dorian crossed his arms in mock rage, as Ansel began to apply makeup to Aelin.

"You know, nearly half the school believes you're _actually_ half dragon," Ansel remarked, biting her lip in concentration as she dusted Aelin's eyeshadow on.

Dorian scoffed.

"Only half? Pathetic."

"Rumor has it, you've got dragon _bits,_" Ansel confided conspiratorially, glancing down at Aelin's crotch for emphasis.

Aelin laughed, trying not to move her head too much and allow her eyes to fall victim to Ansel's brush.

"Oh, you laugh now. You won't be when you start popping out eggs in Potions," Ansel envisioned.

"That's ridiculous," Aelin replied, stonefaced.

"I'm nowhere near close to prime dragon reproductive years."

The trio howled.


	14. Chapter14

The house elves had truly outdone themselves. The Great Hall was overflowing with Halloween decor, and a layer of fog drifted over the floor.

Aelin's gold, red, orange, and yellow dress stood out, but it was one of the many glamorous costumes.

Lysandra, in particular, looked stunning, Aelin admitted.

She was a peacock. _Fitting._

The brunette's hair was up in an elaborate knot, wisps of it falling to frame her face. Aelin wondered if she'd unstained her teeth.

As Aelin made her way to speak to Ansel, who seemed to be already wildly dancing with Ilias, a quiet Ravenclaw, she spotted Chaol, sitting at a table alone.

He was dressed as, well Chaol, but with a black masquerade mask on. She stifled a grin. He never did learn how to party, did he?

Aelin decided to finally tentatively extend the olive branch of friendship, and swaggered up to him.

"So are you gonna dance with me or what?"

Surprise flashed over his cursed, handsome features.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Aelin," he wavered.

Aelin smirked, placing a hand on her hip.

"Why? Because you dance like a stiff hen?" she provoked, cooing.

Chaol shook his head, chuckling.

"How could I say no to an invitation like that?" he accepted.

And that was that.

They were on the dance floor, wedged in the crowd of gyrating bodies when Chaol shouted over the noise.

"You're costume is...wow."

His eyes roved over her, and Aelin knew what he meant by those words.

She nodded her thanks, blaming the heat in her cheeks on the dancing.

"Can we talk? At a table or something?" Chaol suggested, and Aelin nodded again, despite the voice in her head telling her that she shouldn't.

Talking led to thinking, and when she thought about Chaol, things tended to go haywire.

When they had found seats at a table, Chaol got right down to business.

"What was that fire yesterday?"

She sighed, weary of explanations.

"It's my magic, I don't know. I have magic like Rowan Whitethorn, but with fire."

Chaol had an unreadable expression on his face. What was it? Jealousy? Fear?

Aelin suddenly felt the need to assure him that she was still the same person she'd always been.

"Don't worry," she rushed, "I'm training to control it. With Rowan, I mean."

"Good," Chaol remarked, "So you can push it down. No one should have that kind of power."

That statement made her uneasy. She didn't want to suppress her magic.

But then, a slower paced song came on, and Chaol gave her a dazzling smile that Aelin wanted to bottle and save for a rainy day.

"You remember this song?" Chaol breathed, standing up and holding out his hand.

"How could I forget?" Aelin answered, heart thumping in her chest as she placed her palm in his.

This was the song Chaol played on his old record player, on that fateful winter day. They'd slow danced around the Common Room as their classmates played outside in the Christmas snow.

It was the song that'd been playing when the pair found themselves under a mistletoe and kissed for the very first time.

It was the song they fell in love to, their hearts beating in rhythm.

And as Aelin wrapped her arms around Chaol's neck, and he placed his hands on her waist and tugged her close to him, she forgot why she'd hesitated to talk to him in the first place.

She smiled up at him, drunk on adrenaline.

The pair spun around the hall, twisting and whirling around eachother like wraiths, and for a moment, they were a normal boy and girl.

Aelin let out a blissful giggle at how badly she wanted it to be true. At how desperately she wanted to be normal and happy with Chaol.

But, almost as soon as it began, the song was over, and with it, the ecstatic energy Aelin had. She gave a rushed goodbye to Chaol, and practically sprinted towards Ansel.

A safe place.

_Oh gods. I was trying to become friends again so it wouldn't be awkward. What am I doing?_

Before she could reach her friend, Lysandra stepped in front of her.

"May I have this dance?" she asked, more a command than a question. She smiled venomously at Aelin, taking Aelin's hand and leading her back to the dance floor.

"It seems I don't have a choice," Aelin agreed, "Your teeth look nice."

Lysandra grinned, more of a baring of her now-pearly-white teeth, really.

"It seems like you actually put thought into our little game," Lysandra pointed out, something akin to a compliment.

"Your teeth are your most prized feature. _Whoever _did that was clever enough to target it," Aelin stayed pointedly.

Lysandra rolled her eyes.

"_Whoever _did it is a narcissistic hazard to civilization."

Aelin smirked.

"One can only dream."

"Your costume is the least subtle thing I've ever seen," Lysandra insulted, turning her nose up in a way that made Aelin contemplate why murder was illegal.

But she was right.

"I know," Aelin sighed.

Lysandra's brows raised.

"Where's your fire, phoenix?"

"Just a bit tired of this conversation ," Aelin replied, though she wanted to say she was tired of this entire night.

She wanted to sprint back to her bed, haul the covers over herself, and forget Chaol and fire and Rowan Whitethorn ever existed.

Lysandra's eyes flashed with something akin to understanding for the briefest of moments.

"Then I won't keep you any longer."


	15. Chapter15

Aedion hadn't wanted to go to the dance with his cousin's ex, but the Quiddditch team somehow roped him into it.

He'd planned on getting ready with Aelin, Ansel, and Dorian, because those three were probably the most fun one could ever wish for.

If one wished for death by stupidity.

Which was the only way Aedion planned on going out, by the way.

Luckily, he ditched the team the moment they entered the hall, heading straight for the first familiar face.

Which happened to be Lysandra.

She was breathtaking. She always was.

"A peacock," he observed, "A bit snobbish."

She chuckled, her fluty, fake voice taking over.

"Have you seen me? I'm the definition of snobbish."

Aedion pulled her into a fast paced dance.

"I haven't seen all of you, but the parts I have are the opposite of snobbish."

Lysandra loosed little breath it seemed she'd been holding.

"Do you speak to all of Aelin's enemies so sweetly?"

Aedion pulled Lysandra's face closer to his, telling himself it was part of the dance.

"Only the pretty ones."

He brushed his fingers against the shimmering fabric of her dress.

"So this is what you were working on in the Room of Requirement," he remarked.

She jerked away a little.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's beautiful. You're very talented you know. This was crafted masterfully," he praised.

"How did you..." Lysandra breathed out.

"Whatever you shoved away that day gleamed like this fabric. I made an inference."

Her brows raised slightly, a pink tint on her cheeks.

He didn't ask why she'd sewn her own dress, or why she told everyone she'd had it custom made by som e snobbish designer.

_One step at a time_.

"Very astute of you," she allowed, trying to regain her footing in this conversation.

"You keep surprising me, Aedion."

His name on her tongue felt like golden sunbursts in his chest.

"I think we're even, then," he proposed.

Lysandra felt a quiet smile come to rest on her lips, then tried to say something that would calm the beat of her heart.

"You're dancing awfully close to me for being within a mile radius of Aelin."

Aedion immediately took two steps back.

"If you so much as imply to her that I somewhat enjoy your presence, I will lock you in the Room of Requirement."

_He enjoyed her presence?_

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

Lysandra pulled back Aedion to her as the music turned into a slow, rolling melody.

She allowed herself to feel as if she had no responsibilities, no masks, no walls to hide behind. She let go of her act for one moment, as he twined his arms around her waist.

"Thank you," she whispered, into his chest, almost impossible to hear.

She didn't clarify what she was thanking him for, but Aedion understood perfectly.

The moment was broken by one of Lysandra's acquaintances approaching the pair.

"Why are you dancing with _him,_ Lysandra?" she spat.

Aedion watched as Lysandra's cool, withdrawn mask slid over her features.

She looked like a haughty bitch.

Her face contorted again, her cheeks turned rosy and a drunk grin spread.

"A lapse in judgement. I think someone spiked the punch," she slurred, tipsily, then turned to Aedion.

Aedion recoiled as she glared at him, her nose upturned.

"Get lost, Mudblood."

He took a step back, eyes flashing with utter _hurt._

And then spun and stormed through the crowd, eager to get away from that _bitch. _That person who wasn't who he wished she would be.

He hated how that word slipped so easily from her lips. He hated how he'd almost believed she meant it. He hated her goddamn act and how quickly she could slip into it.

He hated how he was still wishing...wishing for what, exactly? Wishing for her to change? Wishing for her to tell him all of her secrets? Wishing for her to be herself? Wishing for her to want to be around him like he wanted to be around her?

It felt like wishing for a miracle.


	16. Chapter16

Aedion and Aelin had agreed to meet up at the end of the dance and recap the night. It was how they ended every school event.

So, when the two reconvened just outside the Gryffindor Common Room, both were surprised at how little they had to say.

"How was your night?" Aelin began, hesitantly.

Aedion sighed.

"Shitty."

"Mine, too. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Me neither."

And their very eloquent exchange ended there.

The cousins headed to their respective dormitories, each one wondering how they would ever face someone again.

~_~_~_~_~

The next evening, Aedion blamed his stupid, willful, Gryffindor courage for forcing him to walk outside, five minutes past curfew.

As he reached the now-familiar edge of the Forbidden Forest, he saw Lysandra.

She hadn't shifted yet. In fact, she stared at the school, almost expectantly.

Curse her and her sinfully beautiful face.

She started when she saw him.

"I thought you weren't coming," she whispered, looking at him as if she didn't quite believe he was really there.

"Yeah, well, I came to clear something up," he started, "I want to get to know you. The real you. And that's not going to work if you keep saying things like the shit you said yesterday. So I came here to say that, if you actually believe in all that Pureblood bull, then I'll give up. I'm persistent, but I'm not a sodding idiot. I want to keep spending time with you, but I have terms."

Her eyebrows raised, and her green eyes that shone in the moonlight widened slightly.

"What are your terms?"

"You never call me or anyone else a...Mudblood again," he stated, coolly.

She nodded.

"I can do that."

Her face was solemn, the ever-still mask of indifference.

Her breath hitched.

"And...I'm sorry. I didn't mean it," she uttered, slowly and stiffly.

He stared down at her.

"Please. Just...stay," she murmured, softly.

Aedion was surprised by the amount of emotion she was trying to show to him. Surprised by the fact that she was actually trying. He didn't think Lysandra Caraverre had ever begged for a thing in her life.

Yet here she was, staring at him as if he'd hung the moon.

He didn't even think she was breathing.

"Just shift, Animagus," he eventually replied.

Her face betrayed nothing, but Aedion saw the slight glint in her eyes as she shifted.

It wasn't a perfect apology, and this certainly wasn't a perfect acceptance. But it was enough.

For now, it was enough.

~_~_~

Lysandra didn't know why she'd been so terrified when Aedion Ashryver stormed up to her, and threatened to stop talking to her.

Or whatever this was.

She knew that this...acquaintanceship was the first good thing to happen to her in a long time.

Merlin, he actually wanted to _know_ her. And maybe she was afraid of what he would find, but she didn't want to let go just yet.

As he stared at her and she blubbered an apology that felt so _strange_, she felt whatever this thing _was _slipping through her fingers.

That had absolutely _terrified _her.

She knew that Pureblood superiority was a backwards thing of the past, but her Slytherin friends weren't so sure. And they expected her, a Caraverre to be the most adamant on it.

So when Tella had so rudely interrupted her and Aedion last night, she'd slipped.

It just...came out.

And she wished she could take it back the minute it did.

She wished she could pick up the word and shove it right back in her mouth as soon as she saw Aedion's gorgeous eyes flash with hurt.

But it was part of her character. Her act was difficult to let go of, and she'd spent years pretending to hold the same prejudice as her peers.

Because she was a _Caraverre. _She _needed _this social circle, she _needed _to be accepted, she _needed _to do it. For Evangeline.

~_~_~_~

Aedion stared at the moon as they cut their usual path around the lake.

He knew that she hadn't meant it, that she'd wanted to keep her reputation.

But using that slur was just...unacceptable. Unforgivable, if it wasn't someone he was so fascinated by.

If it wasn't someone he was _knew _didn't hold that prejudice. Or assumed, at least.

Aedion reminded himself that he didn't actually _know _Lysandra. A few days ago, he hadn't even _liked _her.

Two uncovered secrets and a late-night walk didn't make an incredibly strong bond. Hell, it didn't even make a friendship.

And if it became one, Aelin was sure to find out, and Aedion wasn't sure if he was ready to deal with the repercussions of that.

Wasn't sure if Lysandra's time was worth it.

So, he decided to dwell in the present. He'd take in this moment, this silent walk around a glimmering lake, cold air biting his nose.

He'd take in this moment until it merged into the next, until he was ready for whatever this would become.


	17. Chapter17

News of Aelin's training session with Rowan had spread across the school like wildfire.

Everyone wanted to see the fire-breathing girl and the ice prince train together.

So, when Rowan had arrived at the training hall at 7 on Monday, he'd had to snarl at some bold third years who'd hoped to watch.

A few minutes after he'd entered, Aelin Galathynius sauntered in, the picture of arrogance.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," he snapped, "I'm not going to coddle you."

Aelin rolled her eyes.

"Listen. I don't like you, you don't like me, let's just not do this shit. What the Headmaster doesn't know won't hurt him," she proposed, giving her winning smile.

Rowan gave her a dark look.

"I'm training you, whether you like it or not," snapped Rowan, "Your powers are dangerous, and you need to learn control."

He huffed a sigh and crossed his arms over his broad chest, glaring down at her.

"So summon."

Aelin's eyes widened a fraction.

"What? The fire?"

"The hell do you think I'm talking about? A house elf? Yes, the fire!" Rowan barked.

"It's not that bloody easy," hissed Aelin in reply.

"Well, I can't train you if you don't summon."

"I don't think I _can, _you oaf!" Aelin yelled, "I don't know _how. _Isn't that what you're supposed to teach me?"

Rowan tapped his foot in annoyance.

"I can only teach you how to control the magic, not summon it."

Summoning wasn't something he could explain, it was just something he did. Wielding the magic was what had to be honed.

Aelin threw up her hands.

"Then how the bloody hell are you supposed to train me?"

"Stop yapping and summon," Rowan ordered.

"Have you not heard what I've been saying for the past-"

Aelin stopped in order to dodge Rowan's fist flying toward her side.

She whirled to gape at him.

"What the bloody everlasting hell?!"

He was already moving to strike her again.

"Summon the fire."

"No, you lunatic! What are you doing?" Aelin gasped, just barely moving out of his path.

"Fear is a strong motivator, a strong trigger," Rowan explained, not even pausing his assault.

Aelin ducked another punch of his.

"I'm not afraid of you, you bastard! Just resisting the urge to bash your head in!"

Rowan was dancing on his feet, preparing to strike again.

"Anger is one, too."

He moved again, but this time Aelin was ready. She dodged his shot, jabbing her elbow into his flank.

She twisted out of reach quickly, her foot shooting out to kick him in his side.

He darted backwards to avoid it, and soon they were both pacing in a circle, sizing eachother up.

"And if you can't summon, Galathynius," Rowan panted, "We might as well get _something _done here."

~_~_~_

Over the next week, Aedion continued taking walks with Lysandra past curfew. The walks were always silent, sacred time for the two to think.

Aelin and Rowan continued to beat eachother to a pulp during training sessions

She would never admit it, but he won more times than not.

He never asked where she'd learned to fight, and _she _never asked where _he'd _learned to fight.

In fact there was little talking involved at all.

He'd command her to summon, and she'd refuse, then use a series of expletives to describe what a shit teacher he was, and then they'd continue launching themselves at eachother.

It was grueling, but Aelin had to admit it was releasing.

She could take out all of her frustrations on him.

The pair refrained from seriously injuring eachother, but left bruises where no one could see them.

Aelin refused to tell anyone of her progress, despite Ansel's pleading and Aedion's demands.

She also refused to go to the Infirmary, instead proudly wearing her bruising and soreness for herself like a badge.

She hadn't produced a single flame since the Quidditch match. Not a single one. Hadn't even felt the stir of fire within her.

At least she was learning new fighting techniques.

~_~_~_~_

"You're not trying!" Rowan exclaimed, after a brutal sparring session.

Aelin huffed.

"Of course I am."

"No, you're not," Rowan stated, "You prance in here, get your ass handed to you, and then you walk out. You don't even attempt to summon."

"First of all, you don't have the right to _touch _my ass, let alone _hand _it to me," Aelin muttered.

Rowan smirked.

"Is there a second thing to follow that up?"

Aelin cast her eyes at the ground, silent.

He was right.

She _wasn't_ trying. She didn't _want _these powers. She had no goddamn reason to _try._

_"_Goddamnit, Galathynius, I _knew _it!" Rowan shouted, "Why the hell am I wasting my time here? You won't even try!"

"I don't know _how," _Aelin returned, "And I have no reason to give a hoot about this magic."

Rowan sighed.

"Fine, you need reasons to train? If the Headmaster's need for safety didn't convince you, I'll give you ones worth your arrogance. You should try because wizards and witches spend their entire lives training to attain this magic. You should try because most never even succeed. You should try because _I _spent my childhood trying to summon, and it comes to you _naturally."_

He took a breath, his gaze breaking her.

"And if all else fails, this magic gives you another reason to boast to your friends and enemies."

Aelin gave a contemplative look, then grinned ferociously.

"Sorry, I'm just here to get my ass handed to me."

She pounced at him.

~_~_~_

"Show me how you do it," Aelin commanded Rowan.

He raised his brows.

"Maybe it'll help me," Aelin insisted.

She'd decided the look on Lysandra's face when she signed off her eyebrows was too valuable a chance to let up.

She watched as Rowan raised his hand, and a swirl of frost danced across it.

"Okay, that helped me not at all," she sighed.

"How do you summon it? How does it feel for you?" she asked.

Rowan shook his head.

"I don't think it'll help you, but it feels like a well of magic inside of me. When I summon my ice, I'm digging down into the well."

"Why wouldn't that help me?" Aelin questioned, "Seems more helpful than just ordering me to summon."

"Because it's...not how I was taught. When I learned this magic, every book said you were supposed to feel like you were drawing from the outside world, from what was already there. They described a more technical process than what I feel," Rowan explained.

"Then why didn't you teach me _that _shit?" Aelin exclaimed, exasperated.

"Because if it didn't help _me _it probably wouldn't help _you._"

Fine. Okay. What he said seemed simple enough.

Aelin closed her eyes, trying to burrow into herself to find a well.

But she couldn't.

There was no _well. _Only cobwebs of brilliant humor and a charming personality.

So, she tried to focus on her environment, on the lit torches in the hall. She could draw fire from there. But they didn't respond to her either.

She scowled.

"No luck?" Rowan taunted.

She snarled and threw her fist at him.


	18. Chapter18

Aedion deeply inhaled the crisp night air, staring at the pitch black lake. Lysandra had decided she wanted to lay out on the sand, so Aedion sat next to her, silent. This was something they'd never done before, and he wasn't sure what her boundaries were in this situation, so he remained quiet.

She shifted back into her human form, shivering slightly.

"I feel like there need to be rules," she confessed, her head dipping, as if she was afraid of speaking the words.

"What?" Aedion asked, the eloquent bastard.

"To this...friendship," she specified, and Aedion almost beamed at her choice of words, "I feel like we need to make rules."

Aedion found himself wondering if this _was _a friendship. His mind wandered to Aelin, and he imagined a look of utter betrayal on her face.

"Why?" he hesitated before choosing to use the word she had, "Friendships don't need rules."

Lysandra paused, searching for the right words.

"Yes, but," she enunciated slowly, "We didn't really like eachother...before. I don't want one of us to mess things up and make it go back to the way it was."

Aedion felt like he'd just won at life, yet a tiny part of him wondered if this was just another act for her, is she was stringing him along for some wicked sort of amusement. Life was cruel like that, sometimes.

"Okay, what kind of rules are you thinking of?"

"Well," she began, "I don't want you to push me too far. With this honesty thing. It's been a while since I was completely honest with someone, and it's...difficult."

Aedion noticed how stiff her body was, as if she'd realized how vulnerable lying down made her, and her fingers twitched, begging to fiddle.

He decided to lie down as well, just to make it even.

"And I don't want you to take it too far with this new hobby of yours for uncovering my secrets," Lysandra continued, her breath clouding above her in small wisps.

"What can I say, it's a talent," Aedion chuckled, his palms running over the grainy surface they lay on, "But I must wonder what you're desperate to hide."

Lysandra remained silent, her spine straight, eyes trained towards the stars.

After a few moments of uneasy silence, Aedion murmured, "I want you to back off of Aelin."

"No."

Aedion blinked. He'd thought they were establishing rules.

"Do you hate her that much?"

"I don't hate her," Lysandra muttered, almost as if she were speaking to herself, "Of course I don't hate her."

"Then what the hell is this rivalry between you two? It sure as hell didn't spring from the warmth of your heart," Aedion exclaimed.

"You don't understand," Lysandra scoffed.

Aedion was almost tired of hearing her use the words as an excuse.

"That doesn't mean I _wouldn't _understand," he insisted, "Tell me what you're comfortable sharing."

A minute or two of silence floated by before she replied, but Aedion found that he didn't mind.

"It's...real," Lysandra allowed, "She's real, and no one else is."

Aedion wasn't sure he understood quite yet, but he waited to see if she would elaborate.

Good things come to those who wait.

"Every interaction with her is...it isn't faked. I don't have to act because she keeps me on my toes."

Aedion turned his head, hair probably filling with sand, the kind that comes with a vengeance and never leaves.

"But if you don't hate her, then it _is _faked. I know that surely you don't act like your real self around her. Hell, I've _seen _you around her, and you it's all an act," Aedion pointed out.

Lysandra intertwined her hands across her chest and squeezed until her knuckles were white.

"I don't care that _I'm_ acting, because _she's_ not, and that's all that matters."

She gave a dark laugh, one Aedion couldn't read.

"I suppose it's refreshing," she continued, "Talking to someone who isn't desperately trying to get you to like them. Someone who isn't willing to bend over backwards to get you to give them a second glance."

_Sinful liar, _Aedion's brain screamed at her. There was obviously more to it than that.

His mouth formed different words.

"Aelin bows for no one. It's what I've always liked about her. It's what everyone likes about her. It almost makes me jealous."

Lysandra raised her eyebrows at the confession, turning her head to look at him.

_Continue, _her eyes told him.

_It's going to take a while, Animagus, _his retorted.

She grinned lazily, her posture relaxing. She raised her eyes to meet his.

_I have time._

His eyes twinkled, and he began.

"It's always been me and Aelin. We're a two sided coin, an inseparable pair."

"People had always been drawn to her. That's simply the way it was. She had this charm, and you couldn't help but be swept up by it when you were with her. I loved that about her, the way you could almost feel the thrum of a buzzing sort of _wildness_ when you were next to her. It made you willing to do all sorts of crazy things."

He took a breath.

"Our parents used to throw big parties every year, when we were little you know, and Aelin had all of those kids there wrapped around her finger. She loved parties, dancing wildly with strangers. I was never really the type. Aelin was the only friend I needed. So, I would hole myself up behind the large sofa. in the darkest corner of the room. Aelin would dazzle the guests all for most of the night, then retreat to where I hid, after she was bored and tired of entertaining others. She would make me laugh and giggle at all the ridiculous guests, and she made me feel like it was just the two of us, in that secluded corner."

Lysandra was rapt with attention, hanging on to his every word.

"Like I said, it's always been me and Aelin. The year before we came to Hogwarts, we promised eachother it would always stay that way. But she had this effect on everyone. Where Aelin went, people followed. She made new friends, ones she didn't get bored of. It's been years, and she's still that charming girl with the energy and charisma to dazzle a room full of people, and I'm still the lonely kid waiting for her in the dark."

Lysandra inched a tiny bit closer to him.

"If it's any consolation, I think she needs you just as much as you need her," she breathed.

He remained silent.

And something clicked inside of Lysandra, it was the craziest thing.

She supposed it was only fair that she shared a secret of her own.

She closed her eyes, brows furrowing. She didn't want to look at him when I said it.

"I taunt her because she's not afraid of retaliating. I do it because I deserve it. Because talking to her is a reminder that she is everything I am not. She is unburdened, wild, _free. _She has the privilege of being honest. Everytime she wins a battle in this little war of ours, I relish it. Because I am _not_ honest. The person I pretend to be is someone I hate. I hate her, and I hate that I _am _her. I hate that I _need _her. She deserves what Aelin gives. _I _deserve it."

Her body shook with the truth behind her words. She hadn't meant to say the last part, but it had come out, swept up with the force of her honesty. When you build a dam around your feelings for so long, it's hard to control how much comes out with you place a hole in it.

Aedion's mouth was slightly ajar. He did not notice that his body had bolted upright, that he was now sitting. He didn't know what to say about the fact that Lysandra's feud with his cousin was some sort of sick self punishment, a result of self hate and jealousy. He was honestly still processing the fact that she'd _told _him that.

"Oh gods," Lysandra breathed, eyes still screwed shut, "Oh holy rutting gods, did I actually just _say _that?"

"You did."

After taking a few shaky breaths, Lysandra was done soul-baring. She shifted with a flash of light, but made no move to get up.

The two remained in steady silence, the one true constant of their relationship. Aedion didn't have the words to comfort her, didn't know what she needed to hear. What she said hadn't made a huge difference, but she was still here. She didn't pity him, she didn't laugh at him. She was still here, and he was still here, and perhaps that was all that mattered.

What seemed like an eternity passed before Aedion summoned the courage to hesitantly place his hand on Lysandra's furry head, where it lingered for the duration of the night.


End file.
